


we want spectacular views

by sylvianorth



Series: we should become more adventurous [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Day At The Beach, Dirtbag Kraglin Obfonteri, Domestic Fluff, Kid Peter Quill, M/M, Parent Yondu Udonta, Reluctant parent/big brother Kraglin, Yondu just wants everyone to chill, Yondu's parenting attempts, the gang as kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvianorth/pseuds/sylvianorth
Summary: They are going to the beach and they are going to have fun if it kills them.Which it probably will.





	we want spectacular views

**Author's Note:**

> This is just rambling, self-indulgent fluffy garbage that I wrote in the middle of doing a more serious thing lol~
> 
> I have a sequel planned too with my princess Mantis and more backstory-ish stuff that deals with Ego etc that I'm working on and may or may not end up posting. Title is from Rilo Kiley's "Salute My Shorts", the show Peter is watching is Twin Peaks (which wouldn't have aired until 1990 but WHATEVER), and ice on the back of the neck during a nosebleed really does slow down the bleeding.

Like all great ideas, it came to Yondu in a dream.

More accurately, it came to him at around three in the morning when there had been a beach movie marathon on TV. He’d fallen asleep watching a predictable thriller and had awoken to _Beach Blanket Bingo_ illuminating the room in a soft glow, decided it wasn’t worth the effort to retrieve the remote from wherever it had gotten lost and opted instead to watch that as he fell back asleep. That’s when he’d had The Idea and had a sudden jolt, smiling and chuckling to himself, admiring his own cleverness. Peter had made a soft noise in his sleep and rolled over, limbs flailing and whacking Yondu in the face. Yondu shifted over to give him more room, nearly falling off the mattress in the process and wondering if Kraglin was home yet and if he was as uncomfortable on the couch as Yondu was in bed.

Yondu watched around twenty more minutes before drifting back off, body thrumming with excitement.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The next morning, Yondu finds Peter in the living room, sitting in front of the too-loud TV with a bowl of sugary cereal balanced precariously in his lap. He’s focused on the screen with an intensity that Yondu has only ever seen when he’s fiddling with his Walkman, the forgotten spoon hovering halfway to his open mouth. Kraglin is sprawled on the couch reading a tattered book, a cigarette between his lips and a cup of coffee on the table next to him. They’re ignoring each other, and Kraglin is ignoring Yondu, which reignites the fire under Yondu’s ass to initiate his plan.

Ordinarily, Yondu doesn’t busy himself in the affairs of others, but he’s starting to understand that establishing a good relationship between Kraglin and Peter is an investment in his own happiness and peace of mind. Namely, he wants his bed back, he wants Kraglin in it, he wants Kraglin to stop sulking and he wants Peter to stop clinging to him.

Because, as much as Yondu actually doesn’t mind the kid and, much to his own surprise, enjoys spending time with him, he realizes it’s putting a strain on his relationship with Kraglin and it’s only a matter of time before Kraglin either makes good on his threats of murder-suicide or goes to the bar some night and doesn’t come back. Yondu knows that Kraglin tends toward the dramatic when he’s upset but he also knows that Kraglin can break every bone in a man’s hand one by one – has seen him do it, in fact – with little effort and has therefore decided to placate him. He’s going to solve all of his problems today, ideally in a few short hours.

Yondu turns off the TV and braces himself for the nuclear fallout.

Peter, as expected, immediately loses his shit, lunging for the remote and causing milk to slop out of his bowl onto his pajama pants. Yondu moves the remote out of his reach. Kraglin turns a page in his book, puffing away on his cigarette, oblivious.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Peter whines, “Cooper’s been shot and a giant just gave him three clues to find the killer! I need to watch!”

“Don’t know what that means, don’t care. Get your swimming suit. We’re headed to the beach. All of us.”

Peter changes his tune instantly. In fact, he seems to radiate light from within as he grins up at Yondu, TV show already forgotten. “Really? The beach? And I’m invited?”

Kraglin, however, has the opposite reaction. He looks up from his book, fixes Yondu with a stare somewhere between angry and incredulous, shakes his head and looks back. “No way. I’m fine right here.”

“You’re going,” Yondu snaps back, irritation crawling from his gut up his spine making his entire body go rigid. “This ain’t up for discussion.”

Peter tugs on Yondu’s sleeve. “Maybe he doesn’t need to go. It’ll be more fun without him.”

“I agree,” Kraglin mutters from behind his book. “You two enjoy yourselves.”

Yondu, at the end of his rope, grabs the book from him and heaves it across the room where it hits the wall with a dull thud. When Kraglin squawks in surprise and protest, Yondu leans in close and hisses, “You got fifteen minutes. I hear a single complaint outta you and you can move in with Oblo and Horuz and them. Got it?”

He can tell by Kraglin’s expression that a million responses have jumped up in his brain and that he’s dying to say all of them, but then his big blue eyes flicker over to Peter who’s hovering behind Yondu, one hand clutching the hem of Yondu’s shirt and he scowls instead. Kraglin knows when he’s fighting a losing battle.

Twelve minutes later, both Peter and Kraglin are appropriately attired and waiting on the porch. Peter looks elated. Kraglin looks resigned.

Yondu, however, is pleased as he grabs his keys and sunglasses, whistling a jaunty tune as he herds them into the car. They are going to the beach and they are going to have fun if it kills them.

Which it probably will.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, it goes tits up two minutes into the thirty-minute drive.

Peter leans forward from the backseat and starts pressing buttons at random to eject the tape in the player to replace it with the mix his mother made him. It doesn’t bother Yondu who has had enough of Kraglin’s music to last a lifetime, but Kraglin loses his shit and slaps Peter’s hands away.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“We’re gonna listen to some good stuff, okay? Trust me, you’ll like it!”

“Stop touching my shit, kid!”

“Stop being so stupid!”

Yondu brakes abruptly. The tires squeal and the smell of burning rubber fills the air. Peter pitches forward into the back of Kraglin’s seat and his tape skitters to the floor of the car, causing him to scream. The car behind them lays on its horn and Kraglin gives him the finger out the window. “Both of you stop fighting and shut up!” Yondu growls and he slaps the stereo off with a little more force than necessary. He hands Peter his tape from where it fell, repeatedly assuring him in a calm tone that it wasn’t broken, and ejects Kraglin’s tape, slapping it on the dashboard, giving Kraglin an angry look. “There. No one gets to listen to their music. Music privileges are gone. If you fix your shitty attitudes and stop acting like a pair of assholes, maybe you can try again on the ride home.” Peter flops back in his seat with a huff and Kraglin leans his head against the window. Yondu hears him mutter something about throwing himself into traffic.

Yondu thinks he would probably let him if he tried.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The beach is crowded.

Yondu grimaces a little as they pick through the throng trying to find a place to sit and he begins to wonder if this was a bad idea. Kraglin mutters under his breath the entire time, occasionally shooting Yondu nasty looks. Peter, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind, drinking in the sights and never straying far from Yondu’s side.

When they finally find a good spot, Kraglin unrolls his towel, toes off his shoes and lays down on his belly, opening his book again and ignoring both Yondu and Peter. Yondu figures he’ll give Kraglin another hour to pout before he lays into him, berating him into a good mood. For now, he’s just going to relax and he sits down, takes a deep breath and smiles a little, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. It’s pleasantly hot with a light breeze and he can hear the surf. It’s nice. He’s brought a book of his own and he reaches into the cooler for a can of beer, cracking it open.

After a moment, he realizes there’s a presence at his opposite side.

Of course it’s Peter.

Yondu takes off his sunglasses. “What’s up?” He’d kind of expected Peter to just take off and go do whatever it is kids do at the beach. Instead he’s standing there, toeing the sand and looking lost.

Peter just shrugs. “What am I supposed to do if you guys are just sitting here?”

Yondu gapes helplessly for a moment. “Hell if I know. Go swimming. Build a sand castle. Find a starfish or shells or whatever.”

“I’d like to build a sandcastle, but how am I supposed to without anything to build it with? You need pails and shovels and that kind of stuff.”

 _Shit_.

Yondu puts down his book and rubs a hand over his face at how poorly he thought this out. He'd been far too excited at the prospect of going to the beach that he'd forgotten that they had absolutely no beach toys or anything else for Peter.  _Shit_. “Aw, hell, Peter. I didn’t bring nothing for you.”

Peter sighs and sits down next to him. “’s okay,” he mumbles, drawing shapes in the sand at his feet with the tip of his index finger. “This is still fun anyway,” he says after a bit, trying to be cheerful.

A blessing arrives in the form of a volleyball rolling to their feet.

“Go get it, Nebula!”

Both Peter and Yondu look up in time to see a tall pale girl around Peter’s age with a shaved head and sour expression stalk over to them. Following close behind her is a black girl wearing a green swimming suit and black shorts. Peter stares at the second girl, his face first draining of color, then turning a brilliant shade of crimson.

Yondu leans into him, picking up the volleyball and holding it in his lap. “Ask if you can play with them,” he whispers. “They’re your age.”

Peter, however, has gone mute staring at the girl in green and suddenly the first girl with the shaved head is standing right in front of them, her hands on her hips. She’s close enough that Yondu can see a big scar running over her left eye and fading yellow bruises on her pale arms. “That’s our ball,” the girl says, nodding to it. “We need it back.”

The second girl comes over. She looks at both Peter and Yondu but does not smile. Her spine is very straight and her face is stern.

“My boy would like to join your game,” Yondu says. Peter stares at him with wide eyes, looking embarrassed. Yondu ignores it. “Would that be all right with you girls?”

“He’s not my dad,” Peter blurts out suddenly. Yondu gapes at him. Kraglin snorts with laughter on Yondu’s opposite side. The girls look confused and Peter flushes dark red. “He’s just my legal guardian, and if you don’t want me to play, that’s fine.”

The girl with the shaved head just cocks her head, clearly unsure of how to proceed after this outburst. The girl in green, however, says, “That’s okay. He’s not our dad either,” and she points to a giant of a man with a square jaw and thick neck sitting in a chair under an umbrella several yards away, immersed in what appears to be a very thick file. Next to him is a dark-haired, sallow kid, Yondu guesses probably eleven or twelve, reading a book. “Neither of us like him.”

Yondu isn’t sure if it’s possible to salvage a conversation that’s spiraled so out of control. He claps Peter on the shoulder. “So.”

“You can play with us,” the girl in green says. She flashes Peter a very small smile and he gets to his feet shakily, his entire face lighting up. “My name is Gamora,” the girl adds. “This is my sister Nebula. We’re playing pepper. Try to keep up.”

The two girls lead Peter back to their area, Yondu watching them as they go. Peter turns his head and gives Yondu a bright smile over his shoulder and Yondu feels the corner of his mouth twitch up as he goes back to his book.

A moment later, Yondu hears the smack of an overhead serve followed by the unmistakable sound of a volleyball connecting with a child’s face.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“Those girls are gonna eat that kid alive,” Kraglin says once they’ve made sure Peter is all right. The boy was beaming, even when Yondu was applying ice to the back of his neck to stop his nosebleed, and had dashed off to join his new friends the moment it stopped.

“Probably,” Yondu agrees, watching Gamora show Peter how to properly set a volleyball.

“Think we can convince their daddy to take him home with them?” Kraglin asks it seemingly innocently, still not looking up from his book but there’s an underlying venom to it that pisses Yondu off.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he demands. “You know that kid’s staying with us, so you better shape up real quick or I’m leaving you here and you can find your own way home.”

Kraglin snaps his book shut and takes off his sunglasses to look Yondu square in the eye. His nostrils are flaring in anger. “It’s _date night_ ,” he snarls. Then, softer, “You big, dumb idiot.”

Oh.

Date night, also known as their twice a month ritual where they try to scrounge up a sitter for Peter, grab a bite to eat, head to a late movie or the bar and come home to fuck each other’s brains out. Something they used to be able to do on a whim and now had to plan ages in advance due to their notoriously unreliable friends. Peter’s been with them three months now and they’ve never managed a successful date night, because something always came up, like friends bailing or someone falling ill, like the time Kraglin had just gotten a condom on when Tullk brought Peter home unexpectedly because the kid had the nerve to come down with the flu and they spent the rest of the night sitting up with him while he vomited.

For the record, Kraglin declared that one of the worst nights of his life and made it a point to remind Yondu of that at every available opportunity. Shortly thereafter, Kraglin became distant, staying out all night and rarely speaking. It wasn’t unusual for Kraglin to get sulky like that – he had two settings when he was angry: blind, violent, murderous rage or petulant brat, but it’s never lasted this long and Yondu is rarely the target of such behavior.

Yondu softens and feels the corner of his mouth twitch up. “Aw, baby blue,” he soothes, using the nickname that always made Kraglin smile. It fails this time, but he figures it’s the thought that counts. It does make Kraglin’s shoulders relax a little and Yondu rests a hand on top of his head, stroking his mohawk and bristly scalp. “We can still make date night tonight. I’ll call Tullk and I’ll buy you a nice dinner and make you forget all about my forgetting. Does that sound good?”

Kraglin sighs, his entire body sagging. “It ain’t just date night, y’know, it’s everything. You said the kid would only be with us for a bit and now he’s living there. He clings to you. He sleeps in our _bed_. I sleep on the couch, for fuck’s sake, my back’s all fucked up because of him. And we gotta plan everything around him and we can’t do anything fun anymore like parties or fuck on the couch or stay out late and we have to take turns watching him and you do everything with him and ignore me but I still get drug along on this kind of stupid shit and I just… I miss… I miss you. I miss when it was just us.” Kraglin, unused to being so emotionally open, lowers his voice until the last few words are a barely audible mumble and puts his sunglasses back on, face flushing. “That’s it,” he concludes, picking up his book.

“You’re upset about the kid because we can’t fuck on the couch anymore?” Kraglin’s shoulders immediately tense again and he turns away which makes Yondu smirk despite himself. He can’t help it: the only thing he enjoys better than fucking Kraglin is fucking _with_ Kraglin. “You’re _jealous_ of the kid.”

Kraglin jerks away, furious. “What?”

Yondu chuckles, partly because it’s genuinely funny to him (he’s always known of Kraglin’s jealous streak, but an eight-year-old is a new low) and also because, holy shit, this is his life. If only Stakar could see him now. Raising a kid with a committed partner (the commitment alone would shock Stakar but it shocks Yondu even more; he’s not even sure when it happened). They have a house and a garden and far too many cats because Kraglin keeps inviting in the strays and now they have a child. It’s domestic.

The laughter only makes Kraglin sulk harder and Yondu reaches out to him, feeling guilty. “Hey,” he murmurs and takes the book, resting his hand on Kraglin’s shoulder. Kraglin’s jaw tightens. A muscle twitches in his cheek. Yondu squeezes the base of his neck gently, dragging his palm up and down over the bony vertebrae. “Krag. Hey. I know. It’s been hard. But you can’t take it out on the kid. He didn’t do nothing. We’ve gotta look after him. This shit with his daddy is bad.”

“Whatever,” Kraglin mutters. He looks down at his hands.

“We’ve gotta take care of him. He ain’t got no one. No other family. He’s all alone, just like…”

 _Just like we were once_ hangs in the air unspoken, but Yondu knows Kraglin understands, because they’re cut from the same cloth: abused, neglected kids, shuffled from foster care home to foster care home, resorting to crime and growing up far too fast.

And Yondu will be damned if that happens to Peter because he’s fucked up too many times and this is his one shot to make things right. He can’t blow this.

“He’s alone. And we’ve gotta help him. I can’t do it alone, sweetheart.”

“I know,” Kraglin mutters. He’s pouting again but he’s relaxing under Yondu’s big hand, leaning into the touch and he blushes a little at the nickname. “I don’t need a guilt trip.”

“Then stop being a jackass,” Yondu says, but he’s smiling.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“Hey, Yondu. Yondu. _Yooondoooooo_. Are you asleep?”

“Mm, not anymore. What do you want?”

“We got any bottles in the cooler?”

“What? No. Just cans. Why?”

“No reason.”

“ _Quill_.”

“Rocket wants to show me how to make dry ice bombs.”

“ _What_?”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The group of three has somehow grown into six.

Six unholy nightmares attempting to murder each other over a shard of broken green glass in the sand.

“It’s a jewel!” yells one of the newcomers, a Filipino kid with a shaved head and stocky build. “We can sell it and be rich!”

Yondu can tell even from his distance that it’s from a beer bottle and he debates buying a few and giving the bottles to the kids to chill them all out but at that moment, he sees Nebula slide tackle Drax, grab the piece of glass and bolt and he decides to let them work it out themselves.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The tall, skinny black kid is Groot. The tiny Latino kid with large eyes and a scowl is Rocket. Groot is deaf and Rocket is supposedly some kind of science genius even though he’s only nine. Peter says they’re brothers. Drax is the kid with the shaved head and loud voice, Gamora and Nebula are the athletic sisters.

Yondu reminds himself of this every few minutes, anticipating the inevitable hospital trip where he’ll have to pretend to know what the fuck they were up to because he honestly has no idea. They seem to bounce from one activity to the next, their whims changing constantly. Yondu tries to follow but he’s always a few steps behind.

“I liked him better when he didn’t have friends,” Kraglin mutters to Yondu when he opens the cooler to find a dead jellyfish inside. They can hear Peter and Rocket snicker from their hiding place a few yards away.

“Friends mean sleepovers though,” Yondu reminds him, scooping the jellyfish out with a stick and tossing it in the sand. “And going over to their houses after school. Just think of that. Besides, they make the kid happy.”

Kraglin nods, dubious. From their safe distance, they watch Drax shove an entire corndog in his mouth and swallow it without appearing to chew. The kids cheer.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

About thirty minutes after the jellyfish incident and twenty after Drax and Nebula got in a rather serious looking argument over a particular play in their game of beach soccer (Yondu had been forced to break it up when it looked like it was about to come to blows, and declared Nebula the victor), Gamora and Groot arrive with a gift.

“Excuse us,” Gamora begins. She takes a moment to scrutinize them and then nods. “We wanted to give you this.”

It’s the shard of green glass from earlier.

Yondu feels himself smile before he regains his composure. “Thanks, girl,” he says gruffly. “Thanks, kid.” He nods at Groot who beams at him.

“We felt it caused too much trouble between us, so we decided to give it to you. We thought it would be best with a neutral party.”

“That is probably for the best,” Yondu intones gravely. Nebula has just put Rocket in a headlock while Peter looks on, horrified. He doesn’t even want to know what damage they would inflict on each other if that stupid piece of glass were within reach.

He puts it in his pocket.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Peter, Yondu notices, rarely ventures out into the water beyond wading up to his thighs, so he tucks that away in “The Quill Files” compartment in his brain, where he stores all of his information about the kid. Some stuff, he keeps in the forefront, like Peter’s attachment to his Walkman, his fear of the dark, his strong conviction in fairness and justice, how his mother is a strictly off-limits topic of discussion. But he thinks of the smaller things, too: how he likes his meat well done to the point it stops being meat and starts being leather, his love of weird genre media that Yondu doesn’t even pretend to understand, his frustration with his math homework, the way he likes to put glue on his fingers just to peel it off when it dries.

Yondu also knows that Peter, despite the brave façade, is sadder and lonelier than he lets on, so he’s happy that he’s made friends. Even if they were. Well.

They’re wrestling now, which means Drax is mostly tackling Peter and holding him down while the other kids referee. After Drax pins him for the fifth time (not that Yondu’s counting), they get bored and all go into the water and Peter shuffles back to their area. He’s sweaty and covered in sand like a giant sunburned sugary doughnut and he sits down next to Yondu, looking forlorn.

“Why aren’t you swimming with your new gang?” Yondu asks as he lights himself a cigarette. He takes a drag and passes it to Kraglin, who’s stretched out on his back nursing a beer. Yondu is partial to the way Kraglin’s shirt has rucked up a few inches, showing off pale skin and black tattoos and sharp hipbones.

Peter mumbles his response, staring at his feet.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” Yondu replies. “Gotta speak up. Old man hearing, you see.” When Peter just looks at him sullenly, Yondu raises his eyebrows. “You can swim, can’t you?”

“I can swim,” Peter snaps, a little defensively. The way he says it makes Yondu feel like there’s something else that needs to be added onto that sentence, so he nods at him, prompting him to continue. Peter pulls a face then sighs, “It’s the sharks.”

Kraglin snorts and peers at Peter from over the top of his sunglasses. “There ain’t no sharks here.”

“That’s not what Yondu said.” Peter points an accusatory finger at Yondu, angry. “A few nights ago, you said they were everywhere. You said they would _eat_ me.”

Yondu has to take a moment to remember what Peter’s talking about and, oh shit, the kid was right. Kraglin had gone out for the night and Peter and Yondu watched a documentary on the great white and Yondu told Peter that sharks lived everywhere, this area in particular. “That was a joke,” Yondu sighs, “I was just messing with you.”

Kraglin makes a _tsk_ noise and shakes his head. “You prick,” he admonishes, but it’s fond and he’s grinning. Yondu finds it awfully rich coming from the man who’s so threatened by a child that he lashes out at him, but he’s not about to say that in front of Peter, who looks crestfallen and doesn’t need to be privy to that detail.

“Will you come with me?” Peter asks Yondu quietly. “Just in case?”

“Nope. Gotta learn to stand on your own two feet, kid. I can’t always be around to save you.” He notices Kraglin looking at him curiously and he prays to every deity that Kraglin will for once in his life just keep his stupid mouth shut, but Kraglin excels at finding others’ weaknesses and exposing them.

“You can’t swim, can you?” Kraglin asks. He looks like he’s trying to smother a smirk and he sits up all the way. “Oh, man. I always figured. Ever since that time in Stakar’s pool – ”

Yondu really hates him.

“I grew up in foster care,” he grits out.

This only makes Kraglin’s smirk more pronounced. “So did I, and I can swim just fine.”

“Then you take him.”

Like quicksilver, Kraglin’s expression changes into a scowl. “Fuck you.”

“Not with that attitude, and it’s a shame because I was just starting to remember why I like you so much.”

Kraglin rolls his eyes and peels off his shirt, revealing his scarred and tattooed chest and back and the silver barbells in his nipples. Yondu can’t help but stare; he really had missed Kraglin the last few weeks. “Come on, Quill,” Kraglin calls to Peter who stays planted at Yondu’s side.

“He scares me,” Peter whispers.

Yondu understands completely but he whacks him in the back of the head anyway. “Go on now. He won’t do nothin’.” Peter hesitates, wary, before starting toward Kraglin, who has his hands on his hips, looking annoyed. Yondu shoots Kraglin a dirty look and Kraglin reaches out and awkwardly pats Peter on the shoulder as they head out for the water.

From his safe distance, Yondu can see Nebula and Gamora having a butterfly stroke race and Groot and Rocket team up against Drax in a game of chicken. He watches Kraglin lead Peter into the water and fall back into the waves, lazily backstroking. Peter casts around a few furtive glances before joining him, walking out as far as he can before frantically paddling to meet Kraglin. He sticks close, even when Kraglin starts heading out deeper and soon Peter finds his confidence, visibly relaxing and smiling, all his tension and fear seeming to leave his body.

Then Peter starts floundering toward his small group of friends and Yondu’s eyes drift back to the other children. The sallow kid with dark hair Yondu had seen sitting near the man who emphatically wasn’t Gamora and Nebula’s father is talking to them. From his distance, Yondu can see that all of the kids are visibly angry except for Groot, who looks very sad. He sees Peter, winded but determined, haul ass out of the water, exchange a few tense words, and then promptly deck the kid in the face.

“Fuck’s sake,” Yondu mutters, briskly walking over. They’re fighting properly now and Peter is getting his ass kicked before the other kids join in, punching and kicking and, in a few cases, biting. Peter’s nose is gushing blood and Gamora and Nebula are chasing the weird kid away while Peter, Drax and Rocket talk to Groot, who’s in tears.

“What the hell happened, Quill?” Yondu demands, taking Peter by the arm and steering him away from his friends. Kraglin, having made his way back to shore and looking baffled, joins them.

“He was being mean to Groot!” Peter protests. Even with blood dripping down his face, he’s furious, working himself into a lather. “He was calling him a freak! He said we were all freaks.”

Yondu crouches down so that he’s eye level with Peter and puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to calm down. “Who was that?”

“Ronan. He lives with Gamora and Nebula, except they’re not related.” Peter is relaxing a bit now but he scowls. “He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, you might wanna keep your distance from that one,” Yondu agrees. He looks over to where Gamora and Nebula are yelling at the kid. Their guardian simply ignores them and Yondu turns back to Peter, whose eyes are big and terrified, his face white. “Why’ve you got that look?”

“Are you mad?” the kid asks in a tiny voice.

Kraglin raises an eyebrow. Yondu snorts. “’Course I’m not. I’m proud of you. You gotta stick up for your buddies.”

“I don’t think my mom liked when I would fight.” Peter’s voice is barely above a whisper and Yondu realizes this is the first time Peter’s voluntarily brought up his mother since he’s been with them.

“Well, your mama and me are different,” Yondu says, choosing his words carefully, “Ain’t sayin’ one of us is better than the other, we just got different styles. It ain’t like I want you getting into fights, but you’re standing up for your friends and that’s important.” He reaches out and awkwardly ruffles Peter’s hair. The sun is low in the sky and Peter’s nosebleed is slowing down. “Let’s head on home and get you cleaned up. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Kraglin is a warm, squirming, pleasant weight in Yondu’s lap. He’s half-drunk and naked, blushing the prettiest shade of pink down his chest and making hungry, needy sounds, grinding his hips down and cradling Yondu’s face in his hands. There’s a porno in the VCR, the sound turned down low, but Yondu is too focused on the way Kraglin is nipping at his lower lip to pay attention. “Missed this,” Kraglin is murmuring, resting their foreheads together. “Missed you.”

“I know, honey.” Yondu rests his hands on Kraglin’s hips, squeezing. He trails his fingers up and down Kraglin’s spine, making him laugh and shiver, pressing closer.

“Thought about you when I was sleeping on the couch,” Kraglin mumbles. He leans back and grabs the bottle of whiskey off the nightstand and takes a swig, face flushing. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and wraps his arms around Yondu’s neck, beaming at him, the color high in his cheeks making his pale eyes look almost purple.

Yondu taps his fingers against Kraglin’s hip, considering a stupid, nagging little thought he’s had ever since Kraglin started icing him out. “You didn’t – you didn’t…. step out on me when you was gone all the time, did you?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“Not unless you think me jacking it on the couch counts as stepping out on you,” Kraglin snorts, leaning in and pressing his lips to Yondu’s jaw and throat.

“You were playing with yourself and didn’t invite me to watch?” Yondu tugs on the bar in Kraglin’s nipple, making him moan.

“’Course not,” Kraglin says like it’s obvious. “I was mad at you. Had to teach you a lesson.” He bites Yondu’s neck gently and grins. “I thought of you, though. When I was doing it.” Kraglin takes Yondu’s hand and sucks two of the thick, callused fingers into his mouth.

Yondu squeezes Kraglin’s thigh and groans. He can’t believe they haven’t fucked in months. “What’d you think about when you was down there, sugar?”

Kraglin blushes deeply, suddenly shy. He lets Yondu’s fingers out of his mouth. “Thought about the last time we fucked. It was the night ‘fore the kid got here and you was on all fours and making the sweetest sounds. Thought about that time we was on that job for Stakar and had that guy in the trunk of the car and we got bored waiting and you bent me over the hood of the car in that alley.”

With surprising speed, Yondu flips them over so that Kraglin is flat on his back on the bed. “Don’t you worry, honey,” he murmurs, kissing Kraglin deeply and licking into his mouth. With one hand, he starts to unbutton his pants and the other reaches for the lube in the nightstand, fumbling in the drawer. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Daddy’s gonna fill you up nice and make you feel good.”

When he turns back, he sees that Kraglin has one hand over his eyes and is shaking with laughter.

“S- sorry,” Kraglin stutters out. He’s snorting now, which just makes him laugh harder, making him snort more, making him laugh harder, a vicious cycle. Tears are glistening in his eyes and Yondu feels put out and crosses his arms defensively.

“What’s so funny?”

“ _Daddy_ ,” Kraglin repeats.

“ _You_ were the one who started it years ago,” Yondu points out.

Kraglin finally calms down enough to say, “You gonna ask Quill to call you daddy?” He starts laughing again when Yondu smacks him in the arm for that. “What? You daddied the hell out of him today.”

“Hush up,” Yondu hisses but he can’t help that he starts laughing a little too. “You’ll wake him.”

Peter had passed out on the drive home, ice cream smeared all over his face and hands, and Yondu had carried him to bed, taking care to tuck him in proper and pray that he’d stay asleep for at least the next few hours.

“You’re a real daddy now,” Kraglin snickers. “Gonna drive a minivan soon and get old and fat.” He pinches Yondu’s belly and grins.

“You calling me old and fat?” Yondu demands, pushing Kraglin back onto his back and straddling his hips. “I oughtta tear you up for that.”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Kraglin says, and Yondu crushes their mouths together.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Unsurprisingly, Peter crawls into their bed several hours later.

Yondu, having predicted that this would happen, had forced Kraglin to clean up and put on clothes before he passed out and he’s so grateful he turned off the porno before falling asleep.

“I had a nightmare,” Peter whispers.

“’s fine,” Yondu mumbles, shifting over to make room. Kraglin is still snoring next to him, one arm flung over Yondu’s chest, his face pressed against his neck.

“Yondu?”

“Mm?”

“I’m sorry I said to Gamora and Nebula you weren’t my dad.”

Yondu snorts. “’s okay, kid. I understand. You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

“I had a fun time today.”

“’m glad,” Yondu yawns. “Go to sleep, Pete.”

“Thanks for taking me to the beach.”

“’Course. Any time.”

“If you two don’t shut the fuck up, you can share the couch and I’m takin’ the whole goddamn bed,” Kraglin grumbles, his voice muffled by Yondu’s skin.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Yondu wakes up alone.

This isn’t unusual. Kraglin is a terrible sleeper and usually averages only about five hours a night before getting up, and Peter, being a child, usually rises at about dawn. Yondu, meanwhile, can sleep through anything – has slept through gunfire – and tends to stay in bed long after they do on the weekends.

What _is_ unusual is the sound of chatter coming from downstairs; he only ever hears the TV or music, never talk, considering Kraglin and Peter prefer to pretend the other doesn’t exist.

Yondu shuffles down the steps and peers into the kitchen to see Kraglin standing at the stove making scrambled eggs and grits and Peter sitting at the table, chatting away happily. Peter’s mix tape is playing on the boombox on the counter.

“And then she said that I was smarter than Drax,” Peter is saying with a bright grin. “She thinks I’m smart!”

“Mm,” Kraglin hums, half-listening. “She sounds great, Pete.”

“I’m going to marry her,” Peter declares. He smiles when he sees Yondu. “Kraglin’s making food.”

“I can see that.” Yondu walks in, grabbing what little meat is on Kraglin’s bony ass and squeezing it, making Kraglin yelp in surprise. “Who’re you gonna marry, Quill?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Gamora. She’s the best. She gave me her phone number. She has her own phone in her bedroom and her own phone line.”

Yondu raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of coffee, wondering why an eight-year-old would need their own phone line.

“Can she come over some time?” Peter asks timidly.

“That depends. She gonna bring that kid Ronan with her?”

Peter shakes his head. “No way. She hates him too.”

“Then yeah, I guess so.”

“Can Drax and Groot and Rocket come over too? And maybe Nebula?”

“Suppose so, yeah.”

Peter grins. “Thanks, Yondu.”

Kraglin puts a plate in front of Peter and another in front of Yondu before sitting down at the table with his own. Peter spends the meal animatedly telling them about his adventures with his new friends and Kraglin rests his feet on top of Yondu’s and smiles at him between bites.

When they’re done, Yondu goes upstairs to take a shower and comes back down to Kraglin reading on the couch and Peter nowhere to be seen.

“Drax called and invited him over,” Kraglin says before Yondu even opens his mouth, “Says he won’t be back ‘til later.” He puts down his book and gives Yondu a meaningful look.

“Hm,” Yondu muses, wandering over, “What’re we gonna do to kill time ‘til he gets back?”

“I’ve got some ideas,” Kraglin answers, grabbing Yondu by the hands and dragging him down.


End file.
